


Jazz/Prowl Romance Bingo

by Aard_Rinn



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: FBI shit, Gen, M/M, No Idea What Else, ProwlxJazz Anniversary 2020, an awful lot of Bluestreak for a bunch of Jazz/Prowl prompts probably, cop shit, prazzledazzle, probably some violence, secret agent shit, spy shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26224879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aard_Rinn/pseuds/Aard_Rinn
Summary: Somebody dropped this challenge in a discord I'm in, and I wasn't gonna do it, but then I did it anyways. C'est la vie.The challenge (bingo thing. IDK, I don't do stuff like this often.):https://prowlxjazz.dreamwidth.org/1761396.html
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 32
Kudos: 68
Collections: ProwlxJazz Anniversary 2020





	1. Secret Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Prowl is a police officer with powerful enemies. When they find he's getting a little too close for comfort, they have an... asset... they like to use to... _persuade_ him to back off.
> 
> Prowl has managed to keep his career and home life separate. Until now.

“Heya, Prowler.”

Prowl freezes, at the voice. Stiffens, as a hand trails across his shoulder to rest, teasingly on his neck - “Jazz.”

“The one and only!” The amused curl of the hitmech’s voice is right in his audial - the flirtatious tone deadly, coming from the other mech. “Corona ain’t too pleased with the diggin’ you’ve been up ta, my mech. Asked me ta come… leave a little message fer my favorite cop.”

There’s a surge of cold fear at the words, but Prowl pushes it down - he needs Jazz _gone._ “What is it, then?” He keeps the words terse - he _can’t_ play games, not here -

But Jazz is obviously in no mood to make things quick. He’s strong - terribly strong - as he spins Prowl around, pressing forwards to pin him, chest-to-chest, against the counter, a mocking glint in his optics as he brushes a thumb over Prowl’s forehelm. “Prowler! So curt with me? You gettin’ sick, mech?”

There’s a humiliating croon to the words that makes Prowl want to snarl back - but allowing himself to be goaded would do nothing more than encourage the hitmech. “Sick of you, perhaps,” he offers instead, voice impassive, and Jazz laughs.

“ _Primus,_ Prowler - there’s that fire.” He leans in close, to breath his next words into Prowl’s audial. “I’m gonna feel real bad when someone finally decides yer worth th’ trouble o’ killin’, mech.” 

“Sure you will.” Prowl manages to get a grip on the edge of the counter - and _shove_ himself upright, forcing Jazz back so he can straighten and glare at the visored mech. “Deliver your message and frag off - I’m not in the mood to play tonight, Jazz.”

Jazz laughs again - louder, this time, and Prowl flinches at the way the sound seems to echo through his silent house. “Alright, alright -”

A sudden, soft sound from behind him makes Prowl’s wing flick - just a tiny bit - and he has one desperate moment to hope that the hitmech hasn’t heard it before Jazz, too, goes still, gaze flickering to Prowl - then the window - the door behind Prowl - and Prowl again. His hand moves - almost imperceptibly, too fast to track, and there’s a knife between his fingers and Prowl has a single instant of spark-stopping terror before the door creaks open -

“Prowl?”

“Hello, Bluestreak.” It’s all he can think to say. “Why are you up at this joor?”

“I heard you talking.” Bluestreak eases into the room behind him - Prowl doesn’t, _can’t_ move, can’t risk taking his optics off Jazz. “I wanted to see who was here.”

Bluestreak, clever youngling that he is, seems to sense the tension between them as he approaches - he hesitates at Prowl’s side, and Prowl reaches out, spares one brief second to pull him close - and Jazz chuckles.

“I’m a… work friend, kiddo. Of Prowl’s.” He steps forwards, hand outstretched - but it’s a greeting, and the knife is gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Name’s - Argent. It’s a pleasure ta meet you.” It’s not a cover Prowl recognizes - by the moment of hesitation when he says it, it might not be a proper cover at all, but Prowl doesn’t have time to worry about that, because -

“Oh!” Bluestreak exclaims, giving the hitmech a relieved smile. He edges forward, reaching out to shake the offered hand. “I’m - well, you know I’m Bluestreak, I guess! It’s very nice to meet you, too - but why are you here so late?”

“Eh, jus’ talking to Prowl ‘bout some work stuff - nothing for little audials ta listen in on.” But Jazz’s tone is light, relaxed. “You should go back to berth, kiddo. Ain’t good fer you, missing too much recharge.”

“Yes.” Prowl has to reset his vocalizer to get the words out. “Go back to berth, Bluestreak. You need the rest.”

“Ugh.” Bluestreak makes a huffy little vent, shuffling his wings - Prowl has to hide the wince when they bang against his own. “Fine! But you need to sleep too, Prowl!”

“I will.” Prowl nods as best he can, nudging Bluestreak towards the door. “Shoo, sweetling. I’ll go get some ‘charge as soon as J-Argent and I are done speaking.”

“Alright.” Bluestreak makes a soft noise of approval as he wanders back towards the stairs - but he pauses, just as he’s shutting the door again behind himself. “You need to recharge too, Argent! Good night!”

Prowl waits, frozen, as the door shuts - and as Bluestreaks pedesteps vanish up the stairs. He’s staring, wide-opticked, at Jazz, and he _knows_ that the other mech can see his terror - can see it in the curled smirk the other mech offers as he steps forward again.

“Prowler -” They’re too close, but Prowl can’t find it in himself to resist as he’s pressed back again, field so flush with Jazz’s that the other mech can surely _taste_ his fear. “I didn’ know you had a kid…”

“Please -”

It’s all of his worst fears come to life - and for the first time, in Jazz’s presence, he’s truly _afraid_ of what the mech will do. But there’s nothing he can _say_ , no witty repartee that will distract the hitmech from the fact that he’s cornered Prowl entirely, found the one piece of leverage that -

That there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to protect.

“That was a question, Prowler.” Jazz chuckles, and the energon in Prowl’s veins freezes. “He yours? Or are you borrowin’ from a friend?”

“Mine,” Prowl admits after another klik of silence. “He - his originator was a friend. They didn’t make it out of a raid, and I - took him in.”

“Hmph. Sweet o’ you.” Jazz smirks, and leans in a little further, and Prowl lets him. “I ain’ gonna hurt your kid, Prowler.”

“What?” Prowl replies, helplessly.

“I ain’ gonna hurt your kid. I don’t play that kinda game, Prowl.” Jazz lets out a vent, and glances away, stepping back to let Prowl straighten. “There’s other mechs tha’ do, but… I ain’ gonna tell anymech.”

“I -” It’s a bewildering line - after everything Jazz has done, the mechs he’s hurt, _Prowl among them_ , it would be ridiculous to trust - but there’s nothing else he _can_ do, and Jazz has proven _that_ a dozen times over. “Thank you.”

“Don’ be too grateful - there just ain’ a point in playin’ with you if I’ve won, mech. Don’t mean I ain’ gonna slag you, though.” There’s a disaffection to the way he says it, though - something distracted, as if he doesn’t particularly believe what he’s saying, or care about the message he’s delivering. Which, admittedly, fits well in with Prowl’s profile of him… “So - yeah. Corona. Frag off, or I’ll be back ta off you. Keep it in mind, mech.”

Then he twists, and surges towards the window - and he’s gone into the night, as silently as he’d appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHA! This time the naughty Jazz threatening Prowl _is_ evil. Or... _is he?_ Yes, yes he is. 
> 
> I'm thinking that Prowl would be politically inconvenient or otherwise unwise to kill, and he and the mob boss/dirty politicians/whoever he's pissed off that he's crossed both know it - and he uses that, _up to a point_ , because he knows that there are limits and at some point he's going to get a bullet in his spark. Jazz is a useful tool for keeping him in line - he snatches him in an alley, messes with him, occasionally puts him in the hospital, and Prowl is scared of him but also knows Jazz won't actually kill him...
> 
> He doesn't know if that holds true for Bluestreak, though. And whoever he's crossed sure as Pit wouldn't shy away from using a youngling to control him - _if Jazz tells them..._
> 
> Which, apparently, he won't!
> 
> But this is a properly evil Jazz, aside from his soft spot for kids - Prowl just... intrigues him. IDK, maybe they wind up with a Hannibal-style chemistry at some point, with Prowl ruthlessly manipulating Jazz using that fascination, and Jazz taking whatever he can get from Prowl. IDK. This scene would be pretty early - Jazz has been stalking Prowl, probably hospitalized him a few times, but this is the first time anyone's come after Prowl _in his own home_. 
> 
> Expect a bunch of these smaller 1k prompt fills - there are 25 on this challenge, so... If you have any fun ones, feel free to toss them in a comment, I'm probably going to shoot for one a day and so I'll need seven more, six to get us to the 31 and one because IDK what virgin widow means and I'm too afraid to ask. :D


	2. Mistaken Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is a cop. Jazz is FBI. Jazz has plans for Prowl's birthday. 
> 
> Well, _had._

::’course, Prowler. Hopefully this meetin’ wi’ Prime won’ take too long, an’ I’ll still be able ta make dinner this evenin’ - but I gotta hop, he’s givin' me th’ look -::

::Love you, Jazz.::

::Love you too, Prowler.::

Jazz lets his comm drop with a smirk as he makes his way up the stairs to Prowl’s - to _his and Prowl’s_ apartment, and his spark still flutters when he thinks about that. It’s early in the cycle, still - plenty of time to set up the apartment, pick Prowl up from work, and spirit him off to dinner before coming home to their surprise -

He’s yanked from his thoughts, freezing outside the door to their apartment, when something heavy _thumps_ within.

Instantly, he’s on alert, tugging his pistol from subspace as he presses himself to the wall off the side of the door. He, himself, keeps a low profile - few enough mechs know about his position as an agent of the Prime’s Service that he’s not worried about being targeted himself - but talented enforcers make talented enemies, and Prowl is a _very_ talented enforcer.

Jazz pauses, taking a brief moment to ping a locational to Ironhide before shifting to brace at the door -

“Hands in the air!” He barrels through the door, gun raised between himself and the - thief? hitmech? spy? - rifling through his kitchen - who, to his credit, has a rifle in hand and aimed at his spark in an instant.

“Don’t move!”

The other mech, a grey Praxian, looks - _surprised,_ at least, which is a relief; chances are high that it’s a robber or a spy, then. He’s… worryingly well-armored, however, and Jazz holds his fire, cursing the fact that he doesn’t have anything more powerful on himself - if it comes to a shoot-out, the other mech’s rifle looks a lot more deadly than his pistol.

“Who the frag are you?” he demands, anyways, trying to push his edge while the mech is still surprised. “What the frag are you doing in my apartment?”

“Your apartment?” The mech looks - surprised, for a moment, but his gun doesn’t waver. Whoever it is, their intelligence is shoddy, then. “Who the pit are you?”

“What the -” Jazz’s optics go wide at Prowl’s voice, behind him, and he calls a warning -

“Wait, Prowl -” 

\- but there’s nothing he can do as Prowl steps into the room behind him.

“Oh for -” There’s no alarm in Prowl’s voice as he surveys the room, and Jazz lets the barrel of his gun drop, just slightly - “Jazz - please don’t shoot my brother.”

“You know each other, Prowl?” Jazz lowers his gun, surprised - the grey mech’s aim doesn’t waver, though, and neither does Jazz’s focus.

“My roommate, Blue. Put the gun away.”

“Oh.” Relievingly, the grey mech - Blue - does, letting the gun drop into subspace as his plating relaxes. “Sorry about that, um - sir.”

“‘Preciate it, kid.” Jazz finally turns to Prowl, a small smirk on his lips. “Really, Prowl? I’m th’ mech that’s gotta drop his gun first?”

“ _You_ wouldn’t have let him hit you.” There’s a fond look in Prowl’s optics as he steps closer, but anything else he plans to say is interrupted by a disgruntled squawk of protest. 

“Like _SLAG_ I’d’ve missed -”

Prowl casts a glance over his shoulder. “I’m not - not impugning your ability to shoot, Blue, Jazz is just -”

“Fast, yeah, no slag.” The grey mech snorts, gun dropping out of subspace and into his hands in a single smooth motion. He drops the magazine and clears the chamber effortlessly, finger flush and off the trigger, and mimes a shot at Jazz - then, fast as a flash, a second one, just off to the left - right through the path Jazz would have taken to dive out of the way of the first shot. “BAM! BAM! Pin him to the floor.”

“Oh.” Jazz pauses, unable to avoid the creeping chill in his lines at the look in the grey mech’s optics as he subspaces the gun again - a look that only now seems predatory. “This’d - this’d be your sniper brother, then. Um. Prowler.”

“Yes.” Prowl, too, looks a little bit surprised - but not surprised enough to satisfy Jazz, who glares at him. “Ah - Jazz, this is Bluestreak - he’s a member of the Iaconi Special Defense Force. Blue, this is Jazz - he works for the Prime. Thank you for not shooting him.”

“No problem.” The younger Praxian - and, next to Prowl, he can kind of see it, though the elegant way he drapes his wings hints at a cybercougar’s grace - smirks. “So, wait - you’re Jazz? The way Prowl described you, I thought you’d be…”

“Even more ravishingly handsome?”

“Mingier.” Bluestreak offers. “More sewery.”

“Yeah, well I thought you’d be blue, so ain’t we both just slaggin’ disappointments?” Remembering their first meeting, though, Jazz grins. “Which brings me back to my original question, mech - what th’ frag are you doing in our apartment?”

“I was -” Bluestreak hesitates, turning to glare at Prowl suspiciously. “What are _you_ doing here?”

It’s a very valid question. “Yeah, Prowler - go to work!”

Prowl lets out an amused huff. “It’s fine, both of you.” He brushes past Jazz into the kitchen, fiddling for a klik with the coffee press. “Clearly we all just had… very different ideas of what a birthday surprise might imply. When did you get in, Bluestreak?”

The grey mech’s wings flutter, and he gives Prowl a put-out pout. “Last cycle,” he finally grumbles.

“And how many mechs have you invited into my home?”

An even louder grumble. Finally, “All of them.”

Prowl pauses for a moment, at that. “ _All_ of them?” There’s a faint, uneasy sway to his wings. “How many is _all_ -”

“I dunno. Like… thirty, maybe? I went over to the precinct, and Smokey’s going to catch a train in in a few joors, and -”

“I have _neighbors_ -” Prowl protests, missing, Jazz thinks, a much bigger point, but Bluestreak shrugs and waves a hand dismissively.

“I have _money._ We passed the hat around, got in touch with them an orn ago, bought them a nice dinner out for the cycle - it’ll be fine -”

“He has a _boyfriend!_ ” Jazz protests. “An’ I had _plans_ for this cycle -”

“Hey, last time I heard about you, you were some _weirdo_ who lived in the _sewers -_ ”

Jazz lets out an indignant squawk, turning on Prowl with the widest, most hurt optics he can muster - “ _Some weirdo -_ ”

“You had a cover!” Prowl throws up his hands in protest. “You told me not to talk about it!”

“ _You could’ve made me sound cool!_ ” But Jazz can’t help grinning when he sees the little flick of Prowl’s wings that means he knows he’s being teased. “Primus! But, yeah, kid - we had plans!”

“Jazz.” Prowl can’t keep the laughter out of his voice as he steps forward - and Jazz chirps in satisfaction when he’s pulled into a kiss, the Praxian wrapping his arms across his shoulders. “The Rose will be there tomorrow - if we call now, I’m sure they’ll push our reservations back…”

“Ugh, fine!” Jazz tosses his arms up. “Party tonight, dinner tomorrow. But only because you’re cute, kid.”

“I am, in fact, very cute.” Bluestreak grins at him, waggling his wings. “Thanks - sorry for almost shooting you.”

“Same.” Jazz wiggles free of Prowl’s arms - a surprising challenge, giving how wiggly he can be when he wants to be - and peers past the mech’s wings into the kitchen. “You press enough of that for all of us, Prowler?”

“Of course.” Prowl wanders back over to collect a couple empty cubes. “Shall we sit, then? And then Jazz and I can clear out and… let you get back to your plotting, Blue?”

“Sure.” Bluestreak pauses for just a klik as Jazz flops down on a chair, groping in his subspace - “I brought some of those little fuel puffs you like, the ones from Chalcedony Square -”

He’s setting the box on the table when Prowl’s wings flick, suddenly, and he turns towards the door. “Jazz -”

Prowl doesn’t have time to say anything else as the door _explodes_ inward, the mech shouldering his way inside letting out a mighty roar - and Jazz, who’s startled so bad that he’s knocked the whole couch over backwards trying to get clear, realizes that he… may have forgotten something.

“Slaggin’ _Pit_ , Ironhide!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the good old mistaken-identity standoff! Bluestreak is going to be _delighted_ that Prowl has someone to spend his birthdays with, just as soon as he gets over the whole ruining-his-surprise thing. Really, he is! :D
> 
> Pretty simple AU for this - Jazz was undercover or something, IDK, and he and Prowl had to team up to fight crime. They hit it off, and now they're roommates (ohmygodtheywereroommates)! I really didn't give it much more thought than that - I just liked the idea of Prowl wandering into a tense standoff in the middle of his kitchen.
> 
> And of course, Jazz knew Prowl had brothers - he's never seen pictures, though, and sort of assumed that SMOKE-screen the psychologist would be GREY, and BLUE-streak the sniper would be BLUE. And that neither of them - they all live in different cities, I guess - would suddenly be _in his house._ :D
> 
> Man I have thought of a HILARIOUS STRETCH for virgin/widow. You guys are gonna love it.


	3. Widow/Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl and Jazz are fey of the Winter and Summer courts, respectively. Soundwave and Starscream are their opposites among the Decepticons. The four have been playing a secret game, as long as the war has waged, a challenge set by the Queens and Kings of Faerie themselves: which pair can arrange the most relationships within their faction before Optimus and Megatron give in to their obvious hidden lusts?
> 
> The two teams meet up in a twilight place twice a year (at the Spring and Autumn equinoxes) for a cube of fuel and a bit of catching up.

“Look, mechs.” Jazz swirls the glinting pink energon in his cube thoughtfully, smirking at Starscream, his fellow Summer Court fey, across the table. “I know you’re both still determined, but it’s been two million years - maybe you should both just admit that you _suck_.”

Soundwave makes a wordless, indignant noise of protest, at that. “Soundwave: superior. Success rate: higher than those of Jazz, Prowl as individuals. Starscream: sucks.”

The Seeker lets out an indignant screech. 

“I have been - you don’t know what it’s _like_ , working with the - the _idiots_ I’m forced to deal with.” Starscream tosses his hands up in the air. “I have to spend half of my time - pulling Skywarp out of _vents_ , and - and listening to Thundercracker’s _soppy_ poetry -”

“Poets is half points,” Jazz points out, jabbing his straw at the other summer fae. “That’s been the rule _forever_.”

“Yeah, yeah - well he’s not such easy pickings when he’s spending half the cycle sitting _outside on the roof_ -” Starscream lets out a noise of wordless frustration. “And meanwhile - _three combiners,_ Jazz. Not even _you_ could do anything with _three combiners -_ ”

“I’m doing good work on two, though.” Jazz wiggles his optic ridges. “Way Silverbolt an’ Hot Spot’ve been looking at each other - slag, if I get them to frag as Superion an’ Defensor, that should be enough points to call the whole thing right there, shouldn’t it? A twelve-mech frag?”

“ _If._ ” But Soundwave looks vaguely intrigued by the idea. “Prowl: has been doing excellent work.”

“Thank you.” Prowl’s wings dip appreciatively at the praise. “It’s been - well, interesting, working with so many mechs for such a long time. Hopefully once Ironhide and Ratchet finally work things out, a few other pieces will fall into place - I’ve got high hopes for Tracks and Raoul, though I haven’t wanted to push.”

“I’m still not sure why we’re letting interspecies romances count - let alone count _double._ ” Starscream sniffs. “Too easy - these disgusting organics and their… _mating urges_.”

“Hey, culturally imposed repression counts fer a lot.” Jazz shrugs. “An’ it ain’t like you’ve managed to set any up, so -”

“Like I’d _try!_ ” Starscream snorts. “You and your _Autobots_ are welcome to all the filthy organics you can handle. Try setting that little dingy of yours - what is it, Seaspray? - up with an octopus, for all I care.”

Jazz raises his cube cheerfully. “Hey, I’ll drink to that. You’re just pissed that I managed to make the Astoria thing work out.

“I’m pissed because you _somehow_ managed to wrangle all of the _nice, milktoast_ Cybertronians, and Soundwave and I wound up with a bunch of _vicious idiots_ with, shall we say, _strong personalities!_ ”

“Look, don’t you dare give me that slag about _strong personalities_ \- I got _Huffer_ and _Gears_ together. The two - and you both know I love my mechs, so I don’t say this lightly, but - objectively the two _worst minibots_ , and they’re baggin’ it together. Why? _Me._ ”

Starscream snorts dismissively. “Still haven’t managed to do anything with the vicious little red one, though.”

“Oh, I have _plans_ for Cliffjumper,” Jazz offers with a wicked grin that has even Prowl looking at him curiously. “I’m going to get him together with Hound and Mirage if it _kills them._ ”

That gets sounds of surprise from around the table. “Doesn’t he - he hates Mirage, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, with a passion.” Jazz waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll work it out. I always do.”

“They’re going to -” Starscream gives an unkind laugh. “Oh, _Soundwave_ \- how many points shall we dock them if two mechs they’re trying to pair _kill each other?_ ”

“As many as you want, mechs - they’re gonna get on just fine, once I’m done with ‘em.” Jazz chuckles. “You've still got more mechs ta work with, I gotta make up th’ points somewhere, an’ triads still count doubles - which I’m just gonna say is, again, cheatin’, with you havin’ all the seekers -”

It’s Prowl who gives an amused smirk at that. “Not that they’ve been having much luck pushing _that_ advantage…”

“Starscream: sucks.” Soundwave agrees, ignoring the summer fae’s furious hiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL this came to me this afternoon as I was driving. I know it's a bit of a stretch from the prompt, but the dichotomy of mother/virgin, hot/cold, and summer/winter just sprang to me - and the seconds and thirds in commands of the respective armies make excellent members to the two courts. They're friends, I think - but in the way of fey, which means they hate each other just as much :D
> 
> Optimus and Megatron schtupping has been given as a time limit because it's a) flexible - they can influence when it happens through their actions, which gives it an appealing strategic element, and b) inevitable lol. It's just a matter of when...
> 
> And of course, there's a point system. How does it work? No one really knows - not least the players - but it does. A Game must have Rules, after all :D
> 
> This is 100% cartoon G-1, by the way. So much of that show could be explained by the fact that all of the mechs in command were mischievious fey trying to drag the war out without getting anybody killed... B/c that would limit their pool of potential targets!
> 
> Oh god the prompts have taken over my life. More Mirage tomorrow, I promise :D


End file.
